


StilesnDerek

by baeberiibungh



Series: Tailgaters [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A small fender bender, AU, Bad News, Crying, Fluff, M/M, No Hale Fire, Roscoe rescued, a lil, everyone is human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/baeberiibungh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Stiles can take on assholes like Jackson with his Ferrari for Roscoe, he sure as hell can take on assholes in black Camaros to defend Roscoe’s old hide...</p>
            </blockquote>





	StilesnDerek

Roscoe is a piece of art, Stiles is always telling Scott. Probably with his hand squishing Scott’s lower face as he manhandles his friend to look at Roscoe with the same awe Stiles projects. Scott does get better at letting Stiles pull him along only by his jaw, which so totally could be the reason as to why he has such an uneven one – Stiles fucking pulled it right out of symmetry! Also, a lot of adventure had been had in its bowels over the years, first with Stiles mother and now with Stiles so even though he never felt that Roscoe was exactly arty, he was loyal to Roscoe enough to feed it some oil every now and then.

Roscoe is a piece of art Stiles tells his father while he flaps his hands around the whiteboard that lists the stuff that needs repairing to keep Roscoe running. Sheriff Stilinski puts his head in his hand and just lets the spray of words from Stiles mouth wash over him. Just by what miracle roscoe is running is a complete mystery. It is older than quite a lot of other things older to Stiles. But he listened on and slipped him a few dollars every now and then, once or twice even splurging on a few tools for Stiles sake. They do not quite manage to lessen the appearance of whiteboard around the Stilinski household.

Roscoe is a piece of art Stiles insists to Lydia, the third time she lowers herself to talk with the weird guy who also happens to be her lab partner by some unlucky stroke of luck. Jackson flashes his thin biceps at Stiles as a threat to keep him away from Lydia as Stiles’ crush on Lydia was universal knowledge in the school, and Stiles would let Lydia do anything. Except that when she had laughed at his precious Roscoe, Stiles had been wounded enough to put off his ten years plan to woo Lydia. She could afford to be bored to death by Jackson some more.

So, when a car jerked into Roscoe from behind, at the exact moment Stiles was explaining to Roscoe why he was a piece of art, Stiles saw red. If Stiles can take on assholes like Jackson with his Ferrari for Roscoe, he sure as hell can take on assholes in black Camaros to defend Roscoe’s old hide. Stiles immediately climbed down from his car, and with his shoulders squared marched towards the person who was still sitting inside the tinted black camaro. Mess with Stiles, hey chances were good he will be too much of a wimp to do anything about it, but mess with Roscoe, and hell hath no fury and all that jazz. 

Both the cars were in a side road, with zero chances of being disturbed, in spite of which the other car had been crawling through his dust even though there was enough space for the other car to leave Stiles and his beloved Roscoe behind in peace. But no, it had to tag along on Roscoe’s ass and then ram it in. The first thing Stiles looks at is the damage and is instantly relived to find only a little dent, like one of the many dozens that littered Roscoe’s body already. Next he turned to the car and smartly opened the unlocked door.

Inside was a very manly man, with a rough scruff highlighting his jaw and a leather jacket that gleamed in the light through the open window and tear tracks that were still spilling right onto the guy’s lap and a runny nose to boot. The man was holding a old dirty rag in his hand and rubbing frantically at his face even though he seemed incapable of stopping the tears or the whining sobs that were spilling from his open mouth. His mouth was also bent and his eyes simply brimming with sadness as the guy turned to look at Stiles as his car door got opened.

It took Stiles a moment to realise that the man in the car crying his eyes out was no other than Derek Hale, the supposedly baddest boy Beacon Hills school had ever produced and also was the worst among the Hale children with his scowly face, his gruff voice and a special ineptitude for stupidity in others. Not that that stopped him from being stupid himself, oh no, if the number of times Stiles had espied his crunched face in the lockup at the police station when he had dropped by with healthy dinner bites were any indication. Stiles in fact always thought him hot even if a little aloof and never in his dreams had he thought about coming upon a clearly crying Derek Hale in the middle of nowhere.

Derek blinks at him, or at least tries to while at the same time attempting to ram the dirty rag right into his skin of his face. The absurdity of the whole situation only deepens when for Stiles when he finds that the words that leave his mouth at the picture before him is not the reprimand he was building up in his mind but, “Dude, you will get a skin infection or something if you keep using that shit piece of cloth to wipe your face.”

Derek stills at that as he looks at Stiles, while still crying rather copiously for a grown man driving a car in the middle of a road, no matter how unused that road was.

“Stiles?” Derek croaks at him, an underlying shock to his voice.

Stiles himself is taken aback that Derek Hale knows his name, but then he remembers just how many time he had indeed seen Derek at the lockup and thus Derek must have seen him talking with the other deputies, so it was not that big a jump of a conclusion that he was named Stiles.

“Um, yeah? Are you, are you OK man? Did something happen?” Stiles asked, slightly intrigued and curious as to what must have pushed Derek to bawl so spectacularly.

“Nuh, no, it’s ok, I am ok, I just, some bad news, I, sorry about your car Stiles, send me the bill OK, I am sorry,” Derek says in between heaving sobs and he hadn’t still let go of the dirty rag. 

Stiles leans in and tugs the rag right out of Derek’s hand with a rough pull, goes back to his car and brings back the bottle of water from his lacrosse bag and a protein bar he had stashed there for hunger emergencies. The presence of Stiles near him seems to help Derek as he goes quieter in his crying, not for the sake of courtesy or anything, but like he is getting tired after crying, which leads Stiles to think as to how long Derek had been crying. His eyelashes are clumped together, his nose red and his face pale between the red patches from where he had been rubbing his face roughly with the rag.

Derek takes the bottle with a hum of thanks, drinks almost the whole of it, before splashing the last bit of it on his hands to wipe his face with. Stiles then hands him a few napkins, bearing the logo of the drive through he usually visits and asks for more napkin each time on principle, and watches as Derek wipes his wet hands and his dirty face with them. After rubbing himself clean, he looks almost presentable again, except that he is still crying, fat tear drops oozing from the corner of his eyes and Derek sniffing deep in his seat as he manages to look kind of diminished inside his leather jacket.

“Are you doing something now?” Stiles asks, deciding something on the spur of the moment. 

“I, what?” Derek hiccoughs at him in a questioning tone.

“Do you have to be somewhere right now?” Stiles asks more clearly this time.

“I, no, I don’t,” Derek answers in a confused tone. 

“Well, would you like to come to my house for some pizza and to play some video games?” Stiles asks in a nonchalant tone.

“Pizza...?” Derek frowns at him, the effect somewhat ruined by the hitching gasps he is still giving and the tears slipping every now and then.

“Yeah, like a place to be without having to be in a place, you know. Like we are not friends, but we can play some games on my old console if you want, and some pizza later,” Stiles details his plans for Derek, not adding how someone crying like him should not be left alone.

Derek watches him for a few minutes before saying, “Yeah, OK, that sounds nice.”

“Cool, let’s take my car ok. I don’t think you should drive right now. After wards, I will give you a lift back here and you can go home, that OK with you?” Stiles asks, docking his head forward to look into Derek’s eyes. 

“Yeah, Ok, OK,” Derek nods at him.

“Great. Com’on then. Roscoe needs his beauty sleep soon,” Stiles says to Derek.

“Roscoe?” Derek mutters, thinking that perhaps it is Stiles’ dog as he walks beside Stiles after locking his car.

“Ah, yeah, this beauty right here is Roscoe,” Stiles introduces to Derek proudly.

Derek looks at Roscoe, and back at Stiles before saying, “It is certainly a piece of art,” and he is not even being sarcastic really.

Stiles gives a wide smile at that, slumps his hand over Derek’s shoulder and says, “I think we are gonna be very good friends Derek, very good friends indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> What you wanna bet they end up making out the first time in Roscoe? Unbetaed. Thank you for reading. Please give kudos and comments, thanks!


End file.
